


Look Good for You

by itsallaboutzarry



Series: Make You Never Wanna Leave [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4408145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/pseuds/itsallaboutzarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once a month Zayn takes his time to get ready, to make every single thing perfect and just how he likes it, how they both like it.</p><p>or, the one where both Harry and Zayn have a thing for Zayn dolling himself up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Good for You

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I listened to Selena Gomez's Good For You and I couldn't keep it in my pants, so here this is.
> 
> Don't know, don't own, except the words, those are mine.

Zayn can feel how the material rests just above his hips, a black lacy strip moving with every step he makes, every time he breathes in. After hours of getting ready, hours of just looking at himself in the mirror to inspect his work, deciding between white or black, Zayn feels like liquid fire, like every person he passes has their eyes locked on him. Glued to his back, his long exposed legs, his black wavy hair, Zayn struts through the hotel's front door. Zayn chose to wear black stockings in the end, the pattern of the intricate lace matching his wrist tattoo perfectly.

The steam from his scolding hot shower still trapped in the bathroom, Zayn sat on the edge of the tub and ran his hands up and down his legs, feeling how smooth his skin is, noticing not for the first time he doesn't have a single scar below his waist.

As his hands rubbed the expensive lotion from his ankles to the tops of his thighs - and over his stomach, because Zayn couldn't resist himself - Zayn closed his eyes and took a moment to feel, to enjoy the process, to build up an image of what he'll look like - how he'll be looked at.

Enraptured with the whispering scents of citruses and wild roses, Zayn stretched his right leg first, sliding the thin see-through stockings up, past his knees and up to his thighs. Repeating the process, he smiled to himself once he stood up, feeling the material glide over his thin legs, the elastic band securing them in place. Zayn stretched the slings and hooked them from the stocking to the garter on each end, and as he looked down, still smiling, he saw how ready he was, how excited he felt to go out and show off. Zayn felt how he was already leaking at the tip, a small wet spot on his brand new panties he bought especially for tonight.

It's never been about being someone else, about being himself once he's in a tight dress and high heels. It's about feeling good, feeling and knowing he's pretty, that he's beautiful. Veronica is about turning heads - having the right pair of eyes on him, on the sway of his hips, the blush high on his cheekbones.

Zayn sits on the high stool in the dead centre of the bar's countertop, nodding his head with a smirk when the bartender asks, "The usual?"

It's become a monthly routine, the pampering, the skin-tight dresses - never the same one twice - the heels that took Zayn some time to be able to walk in. Usually, no more than five minutes pass before there's a tall suit asking if he can buy the lovely lady a drink, if the seat's taken or if she'd mind some company.

And Zayn knows what a 'No' can do to a man's ego, how quick their chests blow out and tails tuck between their legs, so he always makes it a point to be gentle, to smile as he explains that he's waiting for someone.

Then, like an exquisitely made Swiss watch, he walks in, wearing the grey suit that sits just right on his shoulders, a barely buttoned silk shirt underneath. Zayn turns to the bartender for another drink as he finally feels the right eyes settle on him.

There's always an empty space between them, and Zayn never knew if it's a taunt or slight shyness he needs to overcome before he turns on his charm, his cool nonchalance. He raises a pointed finger and the bartender slides two glasses on the counter - a Martini with two olives and a Scotch on rocks. It's become a monthly routine Zayn can barely wait for.

"Why the olives?" Harry asks from behind his glass, right before he takes his first tentative sip of the night. "You never touch them."

"I like the olive," Zayn says as he plays with the tip of the pick, twirling it around the glass. "Gives half the taste."

And there it is, Zayn smirks to himself as he tips the glass to his shiny lips, licking over them to catch the sugar on his tongue. The way Harry's eyes follow his every movement, even the tiniest twitch, how Harry licks over his own lips when Zayn recrosses his legs.

It is about the make-up and the glamour, the clothes Zayn would love to wear more often, but it's more about the effect he has on people - on Harry. It's about looking good for Harry.

"The dress is beautiful," Harry says, putting his hand high on Zayn's thigh.

"It's perfect. Thank you," Zayn straightens his back. "You always did have good taste."

"Couldn't resist the red."

Last week, Zayn's eyes couldn't stop sparkling as he tore open the hand delivered box from Valentino, a blood red dress inside with a note saying, Wear this on Friday H x.

Zayn couldn't try it on fast enough once he was alone, looking at how it hugged his hips and came up so high on this thighs he got hard just thinking of wearing it to the hotel.

Thinking about it now. Zayn's hands shake around the tall glass, his legs twitching and they need to get a room before he comes all over the dress.

All Zayn needs to do in the end is look at Harry from beneath his eyelashes and whimper softly, quiet enough so only Harry can hear. But when he does, Harry's already standing up and paying for their drinks, offering his hand for Zayn to take. Zayn spent a good half an hour on his hair alone, curling it and combing through it, placing each strand of the wig and applying hair spray all over it to make sure it'd stay that way. After coating his eye lashes with a thick layer of mascara, Zayn, artfully and with years of practice, brushed his favourite eye shadow over his lids, going for a subtly burgundy shade of his smokey eye to go with the dress. But once Harry and him have stepped on to the elevator, and Harry pressed their floor's button, once the doors close with a quiet ping, Harry's licking inside Zayn's mouth.

Zayn's pushed up against the mirrored wall, Harry's hand grabbing underneath his thigh and lifting it, making Zayn feel how hard he already is as their tongues move together, as they pant into each other's mouths. Harry presses their bodies together and Zayn can feel how hot his skin is, how they both burn to get ever closer as the hem of Zayn's dress rides up and exposed the lace of his panties.

Harry snakes his hand from Zayn's neck, down his sides and lower, lower until he's palming at Zayn's leaking cock, pressing into his bulge and making Zayn moan.

"You like that, don't you? Getting so wet for me already," Harry teases with a slight growl that goes straight to Zayn's head. "When we get to our room, I want you on your knees, yeah? I want you to beg for it."

And it's exactly what Zayn does once Harry lets them into the room with his key card. He doesn't even bother to take off his heels - Zayn knows how much Harry likes his heels, what it does to him when he sees Zayn on his knees with his mouth open, gagging for it.

"Please, Harry," Zayn says more evenly that he thought possible, because what he's feeling now, how his hands are shaking with the anticipation of it, Zayn's surprised he can even speak. "Please."

"What do you want, baby?" Harry asks as he runs his finger over the line of Zayn's jaw, forcing Zayn to look up at him. "Tell me what you want."

"In my mouth," Zayn stutters, the effect of tonight finally getting to him. "Want you in my mouth."

"Yeah," Harry nods and undoes his zip, slides his pants to his ankles and goes to hold Zayn's hair for him, careful not to pull too hard. "Come on."

Zayn leans forward on his knees and gives a shy lick over Harry's boxers, feeling his cock throb even through the material. He hooks his manicured nails into the elastic band and pulls them down just below Harry's balls, leaves them there to tease Harry, to make him feel as best as he can. With his hands behind his back, Zayn whimpers because this is it, this is what he loves the most, the weight of Harry's hard cock on his tongue, the tip sliding all the way to the back of his throat until Zayn's eyes water and he can barely breathe. And Harry lets him do it, with his knees slowly starting to shake and his grip in Zayn's hair getting tighter with each lick, every time Zayn sucks him down and undulates his tongue.

"Baby, so good," Harry says, pushing his hips forward, gagging Zayn. "So good for me."

Zayn blinks and looks up at Harry, a silent thank you as Harry pushes in one last time and takes a step back, his legs barely keeping him standing.

"Come here," Harry says slowly and Zayn can't move fast enough, his heels clicking on the hardwood floors as he walks over to where Harry's standing next to the bed. "You look so good in this dress," Harry hums, runs his hands over Zayn's sides until he settles on his ass, squeezing the round flesh there. "I don't even know where to start with you."

Zayn looks at the curve of Harry's lips before he tips his head up and kisses him gently, no tongue, just enjoying the way their lips fit together, how Harry presses them closer together when Zayn sucks on his bottom lip.

"Your fingers," Zayn whispers shyly, nuzzles into Harry's neck as he squirms a little.

"Want my fingers?" Harry asks and he doesn't have to, he heard Zayn the first time, but as much as it's about making Harry feel good, it's also about taking care of Zayn, making him feel special and putting him in the centre of attention for one night.

Zayn nods and uh-huh's under his breath, starts pulling at the bottom of his dress to take it off. But then Harry's turning him around with a "Let me, baby," as he pulls at the zipper in the middle of Zayn's back. Harry takes time with it, sliding down one shoulder strap at a time before he slowly, ever so slowly starts sliding the dress down Zayn's soft skin, revealing his tattoos and underwear item by single item. It's torturous as much as it makes Zayn even harder, even more ready to get on that bed and finally feel Harry, feel his fingers, his mouth, get Harry's cock deep inside of him.

"Fuck, Zayn," Harry growls behind him and Zayn's mind stops dead. He doesn't recognize Harry's  tone, if it's a praise or a scolding, a punishment Zayn doesn't know what he did to deserve. "Look at you."

And when Zayn turns, he melts a little, because it's definitely a praise from how Harry grabs at him and throws him on the bed, turns him quickly so Zayn's on his hands and knees.

"For you," Zayn whimpers as Harry's hands run up and down his body, feeling how his fingers stray towards his panties. "Wanted to look good for you."

"You do baby," Harry kisses the skin just above his crack, where the slim space is between his panties and garter. "Look so good. Stay still, okay? Don't move till I tell you."

Zayn nods, but is quick to voice his "Yeah, yeah," hurriedly, before Harry has the chance to remind him to use his words. And that's when Zayn thinks he won't be able to speak anymore, won't know his own name, because Harry's undoing the slings of his garter and rolling down the panties Zayn's wet through completely.

"Don't move," Harry reminds him, but Zayn doesn't nod this time, can't do anything else than grab for the pillow beneath his head and hold on for his life as Harry blows cold air over his hole. It's everything Zayn wanted, the way Harry kisses all around his perineum, bites lightly at his rim and points his tongue as he fucks Zayn with it. But it's also slow, languid as Harry's apparently decided he's going to take his time with taking Zayn apart. But he's doing it, he's cracking at Zayn's shell with every single lick, because Zayn can barely breathe, can feel how his legs are ready to give in.

Zayn can't stay still anymore, he has to move back, he needs to roll his hips and grab at the base of his cock or he'll come and ruin it, ruin everything before Harry even gets inside him. But Harry must know, must feel it in the way Zayn keeps clenching around his tongue, because before Zayn can gather his thoughts and focus on not moving, there are two fingers scissoring him apart, and he can't, Zayn can't do it any longer.

He collapses on his front, chanting "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," like it's his prayer, like it'll excuse him moving without permission. But Harry only kisses his way up Zayn's back, his fingers moving at a steady rhythm as he gets up to Zayn's ear and whispers "It's okay, baby, you're perfect. You're so good."

Zayn's still whispering "Sorry" quietly, when he feels his stomach tighten, his blood running hot down to his toes and he's suddenly squirming, sobbing "Stop, Harry, I'm gonna- I'm gonna- ."

"Shh," Harry kisses the back of his neck, bites down into Zayn's flesh as he pulls his fingers out, wiping them off on the bed sheets. "Get on your back."

And Zayn does, his mascara smudged under his eyes, his lip-gloss gone and forgotten, and his thighs twitching, his cock desperate for release. Zayn spreads his legs as wide as he can, putting himself on display for Harry and enjoying how Harry's eyes run from his lips and down to his chest, lower to where his cock is leaking at his hip and then settle on his clenching hole.

"I'm gonna take care of you, yeah?" Harry asks, lubing his length with an unsteady hand. "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

"Harry, please," Zayn begs again, doesn't know what else to say, besides please over and over again, until he can feel Harry press against his hole, the head of his cock sliding in deliciously slow.

Harry goes slow with it, holds onto Zayn thighs as he rolls his hips and presses right next to Zayn's sweet spot, but drags his length out as soon as he does - and Zayn's losing all of his senses one by one. Harry kisses his chest while his hips still move, bites at Zayn's neck and leaves a red mark rivaling the dress now forgotten on the floor. It's hot in the room and Zayn's toes keep curling with the promise of his release so close, he's afraid to touch his cock, because Harry comes first. Harry always comes first.

"You feel so good," Harry murmurs against Zayn's mouth as he leans down to kiss him. "So tight for me. So fucking good."

"For you," Zayn repeats himself. "Only for you."

"That's right," Harry says as his hips pick up their pace, the blinding pressure building in Zayn. "Just me."

"Harry, can I- Please, just- ," Zayn's not sure what he wants to say, just that he's so close, he can feel how it's building up, almost spilling over the edges.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says with each thrust, fucking harder into Zayn, hitting his prostate every time. "Come, you can come."

It's blinding as much as it makes everything around him glow, his limbs a dead weight Zayn can't begin to comprehend as he spills over his stomach, untouched. He can feel the moment Harry releases inside him, hot spurts filing Zayn and making him moan one last time, somewhere beyond his senses. It's bliss and it's sedation, it's a heavy weight on top of him as Harry collapses, exhausted.

Zayn rolls them over as best as he can and slips from the bed quietly, letting Harry enjoy his bliss as he goes to remove what's left of his make-up.

It doesn't take Zayn as long as he'd like to take off the wig and the stockings, to step out of his garter. And as much as he'd love to never take them off, to always wear them, it also feels good to take everything off and put it away, wash his face with cold water, and run a wet towel over his stomach and between his thighs.

Wearing a fresh pair of panties, Zayn makes his way back to the bedroom, where Harry is lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, smiling as Zayn crawls next to him.

"I'm exhausted," Harry states obviously, but Zayn just hums and nuzzles closer to his side, lays his head on Harry’s chest and closes his eyes, tries to relax back into himself.

“But you were amazing,” Harry adds and kisses the top of Zayn’s head, runs his hands over Zayn’s back.

“You weren't so bad yourself.”

They lay together, Zayn’s breathing calming down with Harry’s beating heart steadily lulling him to sleep. And this is a monthly ritual as well - same hotel, same room where they fuck and then fall asleep, their limbs more tangled than the month before. This is what Zayn needs, to look good for Harry, to make heads turn and men sweat with his hips and his dress. And if Zayn only gets this once a month, once every 30 or so days out of their schedules, then it’s all Zayn needs.

“I love you,” Harry whispers before he kisses Zayn’s forehead, wraps his arms tighter around his middle.

“I love you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This might become a series, I'm not completely sure yet. We'll see.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://www.itwasallaboutzarry.tumblr.com/).


End file.
